


Ghost

by Moonlight_Shining



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlight_Shining/pseuds/Moonlight_Shining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phyllis never meant to pry. All she ever yearned for was authenticity... just a bit of trust and warmth from Lady Grantham. How was she to know that she would end up uncovering her innermost secret?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clouds and Secrets

There is a ghost at Downton Abbey, prowling the long gallery and Lady Grantham’s rooms, dwelling in the servants' hall and casting a permanent shadow on Cora Crawley... and Phyllis Baxter. The lady’s maid’s first encounter with the spirit that haunts her Ladyship takes place on a rainy night just a few weeks after her arrival at Downton...

Lady Grantham is not her usual self tonight. Phyllis can tell as much as soon as she lays eyes on her. When she comes in, she finds the countess seated at her dressing table, like she often is while waiting for her, and she is immediately alerted by the slump of her shoulders, the hands tightly knotted in her lap and most of all the way her eyes peer into the mirror unseeingly.

Her Ladyship didn't move at all when Phyllis let herself in. Maybe she didn't hear the small clicking of the door opening. After all, Phyllis is discreet, even by a servant’s standards – always has been and always will be. However, the countess _has rung_ , so Phyllis still can't understand her reaction when she softly calls out to her.

“You rang, M'lady?”

She didn't mean to startle Lady Grantham, but she can't miss the way her whole body tenses upon hearing her voice. The countess slowly turns around to face her and for a second, Phyllis feels as though she hasn't really snapped out of her sad reverie, as though the dreamy blue eyes that are fixed at her aren't really seeing her, as though Lady Grantham is looking through her – no, _past_ her – at something else entirely. But there is nothing else to look at. Then the moment is gone and Lady Grantham graces her with a tiny, weary smile.

“Yes, Baxter. I did. I'd like to go to bed now.”

Phyllis doesn't even attempt to make small talk as she sets to work on the lady's hair. Truly, she has never been that talkative to start with, but there is something about Lady Grantham tonight that leaves her utterly tongue-tied. She doesn't ask what is wrong. Perhaps some other maid would in her position, but she senses instinctively that she would be doing something inappropriate. Although she has been called up, she already feels as though she is intruding somehow. There is something intimate about her Ladyship's melancholy. And ever since she came into her service, Lady Grantham has been unfailingly polite to Phyllis, but she certainly has never been intimate.

Phyllis has noticed it all too well, since it makes her ‘mission’ so much more difficult and Thomas so angry. Lady Grantham does not confide in her, and maybe it is for the best. After all, Phyllis can't betray secrets she knows nothing about.

She can't say however that she is unsympathetic. She may barely know Cora Crawley and be unaware of the reason of her grief – and wish it to remain so – but she is no monster. No matter what Thomas expects of her. Moreover, it is also part of a lady's maid's duties to be available to her mistress should she need an outlet of sorts. So Phyllis does try, knowing that what she can’t say with words, she can still convey through subtle, appropriate gestures. It is proper and it is safe and it helps soothe her guilty conscience a bit.

Although she can hardly wait to get out of here, Phyllis lets her fingers linger slightly longer than usual at the lady's scalp, takes extra care when combing the raven locks and smoothes imaginary creases in the nightdress at her Ladyship's upper back.

The whole time the countess doesn’t speak to her, doesn’t even look at her, actually. Phyllis is unsettled, unable to shake off the impression that she has done something wrong, but thankfully she sees no trace of anger on Lady Grantham's face when she glances at her reflection. And her ministrations do seem to have a positive effect on her, however small. The lady's mind may be deep in grim thoughts, but by the time Phyllis is done, after a last tentative squeeze of her shoulder, her body has noticeably relaxed. Lady Grantham heaves a small sigh.

“Thank you, O'Brien,” she says.

Phyllis is taken aback.

“M'lady?”

The countess has frozen and, for a split second, looks far more confused than even Phyllis, her eyes staring at her maid in the mirror as if she were seeing her for the first time. Then her hand swiftly comes up to her mouth at the same time as her cheeks unexpectedly redden.

“I-I'm very sorry! I don't know what came over me.”

It feels really strange, hearing the Countess of Grantham stammer like a child, apologizing to her like she is actually an equal and not a mere servant.

“It’s quite alright, Milady,” she reassures her.

Tactfully, Phyllis walks to the bed, folding back the covers so that Lady Grantham will be able to slip in effortlessly. When his Lordship comes in to join her mere seconds later and Phyllis takes her leave, the slight frown on her Ladyship’s face still hasn't disappeared.

On her way back downstairs, Phyllis replays in her head what has just happened. She can understand that the name of a lady's maid who had been serving Lady Grantham for nigh on twenty years might have escaped her out of habit. What puzzles her, however, is the way the name was spoken. The American’s sweet voice, even sweeter than it normally would be – _is such a thing even possible?_ – dancing on the words like a lover's caress. Her tone. A tone she can't remember hearing her use before. The blush on her pale cheeks. It was Phyllis attempting to comfort the countess, but somehow it seems that her mysterious predecessor was the one to reap the benefits. The thought has her wondering about the strong connection between her employer and her former maid – there must have been one for the lady of the house to remember her so fondly. And so, during her first month at Downton Abbey, Phyllis Baxter begins to suspect that Miss O’Brien’s shoes will prove difficult to fill...


	2. Cats and Sparrows

The morning after the first incident, Phyllis is on her way back from the village when she finds Thomas alone in the yard, casually leaning against a wall with a fag in his hand. Uncharacteristically, she doesn’t make a beeline for the safety of the house. Instead she goes over to him.

“Miss O'Brien... what was she like?” she asks without thinking.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Think I should be the one askin' the questions, Miss Baxter,” he replies, but she can see that she has roused his curiosity. “Why ye askin' anyway?”

It is right at this moment that Phyllis begins regretting her impulsivity, wondering what on earth possessed her to think she could get away with asking information from Thomas of all people. If anything Phyllis is the one who is about to get squeezed for every drop of news she has. And all of this for what? It is not like she is truly interested in the former lady’s maid. She is just afraid that she might be forced to compete with perfection incarnate and that she is inevitably going to fail dismally... Opposite her Thomas has already run out of patience.

“Well?”

At the time she really can’t see what would be the harm in telling him the truth. Still, she hates being pressed like that, bullied and humiliated, with her past being held over her head like a deadly weapon.

“Her Ladyship's mentioned her name, is all...”

“What d'she say?”

“Not much. She just... praised her in passin'.”

Phyllis has no idea of what else she could have said. She knows nothing about Miss O'Brien except the rumour she heard from the rest of the staff on her first day at the house – that O'Brien worked here for nearly twenty years before suddenly vanishing overnight. The truth is that she has never heard Lady Grantham mention her former maid before yesterday evening. Oh God. She is such a terrible liar. As expected, Thomas can see right through her and she immediately blames herself for being so naïve.

“'Praised her in passin'? For all I know, Lady G thinks O'Brien ought to be thrown in jail for ‘er cheek.”

His eyes have hardened.

“Ye know the conditions. Don't make me repeat myself, Miss Baxter. _What did her Ladyship say about Miss O'Brien?_ ”

On the outwards she remains calm – not that she believes he is fooled – on the inside she is almost crying.

“She didn't say anythin', really... She just – I was just finished dressin' her for bed an’ she wanted to thank me. But she said the wrong name. It's all that's 'appened. I swear.”

Thomas appears to believe her this time. His dark eyes briefly travel up and down her body, studying her attentively. After a while, he blows out a puff of smoke.

“Ye don't look nothin' like her, though. Hell, ye two have nothin' in common.”

He sounds annoyed as well as thoughtful, although she can't tell the reason. Is it because he would like her – for whatever reason – to be more similar to that O'Brien? Or is it because he cannot figure the countess out? Phyllis no longer wants to stay alone with him and makes for the door. She can't get rid of the feeling that she has just made a mistake.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Thomas to take action. Phyllis has been working at Downton for little longer than two months when he takes her aside one morning to foist the latest of his brilliant plans on her. This time, it is all about getting into her Ladyship’s good graces. To say that he is unhappy about the tepid relationship between the countess and her new lady’s maid would be an understatement.

“I’ve already told you everythin’ ye need to know,” Thomas growls. “She should be eatin’ out of yer hand by now! Still... the orange juice seemed to do some good, right?”

He has changed his tone mid speech, reverting back to his usual smooth, snarky self as if nothing happened, as if he were speaking to a friend and not to an unwilling accomplice to his ghastly schemes. When Phyllis doesn’t answer, Thomas simply carries on.

“I knew it’d work, ye see, ‘cause she’s always goin’ on and on about that bloody country of ‘ers. But it doesn’t seem to be the only thing she misses...”

He almost seems to be having fun, plotting and dropping hints, as if he is hoping that Phyllis will end up playing along and gladly join him in spreading gossip about Lady Grantham. When she still won’t rise to the bait, he shoots her an almost reproachful look.

“Miss O’Brien was pamperin’ her like madness. Always runnin’ up an’ down, caterin’ to her Ladyship’s every whim an’ croonin’ over ‘er like she was royalty. And now that the old shrew’s upped an’ left an’ she finds ‘erself without a slave, she’s pinin’ fer ‘er like a lost kitten...”

He smirks at her.

“Now give the lost kitty some milk and she’ll love ye for it... It’s as easy as that.”

“I trust you know which day’s tomorrow,” he adds conspiratorially.

“I don’t believe there’s anyone at Downton who doesn’t...”

“Well, here’s your occasion to shine.”

* * *

Thomas is completely wrong, Phyllis finds out the next morning. There are two things she knows for sure by the time she comes back out of Lady Grantham’s room. The first is that the mere thought of her former maid seems to cause her great pain. The second is that there is absolutely nothing easy about comforting her.

Her Ladyship’s first reaction upon seeing the breakfast tray is one of genuine happiness. She leans forward to take a closer look at the pretty flowers and breathes in their sweet scent.

“How kind of you, Baxter! Thank you!”

The countess looks up and gives her maid a radiant smile, very unlike the polite little tug that usually graces the corner of lips. Phyllis realizes that her Ladyship has never smiled at her for real before at the same time as she realizes that the smile isn’t even rightfully hers.  

Lady Grantham is still beaming as she starts nibbling on a piece of toast, but she puts it back down after just one bite, watching the lady’s maid as she shuffles around the room, picking up her dressing gown from the floor and folding it over her arm.

“Was it Lord Grantham?” she asks, her eyes sparkling and her lips stretching in another fond smile.

“M’lady?”

“Was it Lord Grantham who told you about the flowers?” She is gently caressing a stem between her thumb and forefinger. “They really are my favourite... but I don’t remember us ever broaching the topic before.”

The unexpected question makes her stomach twist into a knot. So the name of Lady Grantham’s favourite flower was something of a secret. Now thanks to Thomas she has landed herself into a tricky situation and she doesn’t dare lie lest Lady Grantham ask her husband later. That, and Phyllis really really hates lying.

“Mr Barrow told me it would probably please you. And since it is your Ladyship’s birthday, I took the liberty of asking the gardener to pick up some for you... I’m sorry if this is too forward.”

“Not all, Baxter. I am _very_ pleased. But I had no idea Mr Barrow was so well-informed about my personal tastes,” she chuckles, and Phyllis can hear the question mark in her voice.

Lady Grantham isn’t going to drop the issue until she knows all there is to know and it is then that Phyllis makes the mistake – she foolishly reveals that Thomas got the info from O’Brien.

From this moment, there is no trace of cheer in Lady Grantham’s demeanour. Gone is the curious, chatty woman, childish enough to be swept off her feet by a gift as simple as a bunch of flowers. Gone are the giddy smiles and the affectionate looks. Phyllis can tell that her Ladyship is trying her best, but she really is terrible at concealing her sadness. She hardly touches her food and when Phyllis leaves the room shortly afterwards, Lady Grantham’s head is resolutely turned in the other direction, as though she was looking at the wall beside her bed.

And so, during her second month at Downton Abbey, Phyllis Baxter becomes convinced that there is something far more complex to the relationship between Lady Grantham and Miss O’Brien than what one would expect of a countess and her lady’s maid. How is it even possible for her Ladyship to be apparently fond of O’Brien at the same time as she seems ready to burst into tears when reminded of her existence? It doesn’t make sense to Phyllis.

Phyllis already knows that her predecessor left without warning. She was told as much on her very first day. Did something happen between the two of them that caused the lady’s maid sudden departure? Or is Lady Grantham simply sad to have lost an especially devoted servant?

Unbidden, yesterday’s talk with Thomas floats back into her mind and most of all a peculiar jibe involving a kitten abandoned by its owner... She wonders if he knows anything.

* * *

Later she asks Mr Molesley about O’Brien. He is a kind and helpful man and, most importantly, he is not even remotely as mistrustful as Thomas. His answer puzzles her – to make a long (or even long-winded) story short, once the shock of the initial discovery had worn off, Miss O’Brien’s running away was a surprise to no one at Downton but Lady Grantham. Her Ladyship’s treasured maid was actually an unpleasant woman who was notorious for stirring up trouble whenever she thought she had something to gain from it.

So, she really was as unpopular as Phyllis remembers Thomas once saying. There is at least a part of what she has discovered that makes sense, she notes bitterly – no wonder O’Brien used to keep Thomas informed. _Birds of a feather flock together._ But that leaves her totally befuddled as to what kind of a peculiar bird – or cat – Cora Crawley might be…


	3. Cora and Sarah

The third incident takes place during her sixth month at Downton Abbey. Lady Grantham has fallen ill and a wind of panic is blowing upstairs. Although Dr Clarkson has already explained that this is just your normal seasonal flu and not a particularly virulent one at that, the terrible epidemic of Spanish Influenza is still fresh in the British collective memory. Lord Grantham is uncharacteristically restless and refuses to leave his wife’s bedside until Lady Edith interferes and persuades him to go get some rest, and even the eldest daughter, who is usually so cool and collected, is fretting a bit.

When the three of them finally leave the room, Phyllis is left alone with her Ladyship. The family has hired a nurse to help her look after the lady for the next few days, but until she arrives it is up to her to keep vigil over Lady Grantham. Dr Clarkson may say what he likes about her illness not being serious, she still makes a pitiful sight. The countess has been hovering between sleep and consciousness for the last hours, sometimes waking up briefly and looking at her husband or her lady’s maid. Phyllis regularly wipes her sweaty forehead with a wet cloth and presses a glass of water to her parched lips. The doctor said she should try her best to keep her well-hydrated.

Lady Grantham is whimpering now, her brow creased, and her eyes flutter open once again, her gaze landing on Phyllis.

“Sarah...” she whispers hoarsely.

“Milady?” Phyllis gently prompts.

“Sarah... I need to see her, please. Please.”

“I’m sorry, M’lady, I don’t know who you mean...”

Lady Grantham is shifting in her bed and sitting up, reaching for her lady’s maid with burning hands. Phyllis is up and by her side in a blink, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of the trembling woman to steady her.

“Please don’t move, M’lady, you’ll only exhaust yourself.”

“Please, Susan... my Sarah, don’t take her away from me. Oh, where are you? Why did you leave me, Sarah?”

Phyllis is unable to make heads or tails of what she says. She hasn’t the slightest idea of who might be the Susan her Ladyship is mistaking her for or the Sarah she is referring to. Looking into the lady’s face, Phyllis gets a last glimpse of her bright, wide eyes, glistening with unshed tears, before she shuts them again and allows herself to be laid back down onto the pillows.

Phyllis sighs and rings. They are going to need some more ice.

Lady Grantham recovers in just a few days and it isn’t long before she is the picture of health again. Naturally, Phyllis doesn’t think much of the names she revealed while she was delirious from high fever. Until one day, the answer to the O’Brien mystery is thrown into her face in a completely unexpected manner.

* * *

And to think it all happens because of one small spool...

Phyllis was about to start mending one of her Ladyship’s petticoat when she noticed that she was missing her white thread. She scurried back up to her room, thinking that she must have forgotten the spool there after tiding up her sewing box the previous evening, and grew slightly frustrated when she couldn’t find it anywhere. Just as she was about to give up and go ask Anna to lend her some white thread, she had an idea – she remembered lining all the spools on top of her chest of drawers to better sort them.

It wasn’t easy to move the piece of furniture by herself, but Phyllis managed it all the same. She didn’t want to disturb the others from their work, and looking back on it now, she really did well. She has no idea what would have happened if any of them were with her at that moment. Her hunch was right and she found her missing spool in the small space between the chest of drawers and the wall, nestled among dust balls. She also found a note she should never have laid eyes on.

Phyllis is still sitting on her bed ten minutes later, trying to get over the shock of the revelation. She reads the letter a fifth time.    

 

_December 24 th, 1921_

_Dear O’Brien,_

_I could never thank you enough for what you have done for me in all those years you have been here with us. You are my anchor in the troubled times we are going through and I cannot believe how incredibly lucky I am to have such a wonderful lady’s maid to take care of me._

_There was a time when I would have said that I feel completely safe with you by my side. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since. Life has not been treating me – or our family – kindly in recent years and I am not as much of an optimistic as I used to be. But there is one thing that I know for sure; I would not be where I am today if it weren’t for you, my dear, precious O’Brien. I would never have made it through this terrible illness without you, without your tender care and your selfless devotion. I would have sooner died myself than left my little girl’s side if you hadn’t been there to drag me away. And I would not have lived at all if you had not been there to hold me in that moment when I felt my son, my very life, being wrenched away from me._

_It hurts to remember all those things, probably more than you can possibly imagine, but it also makes me remember that you were always there for me._

_Now that our family is facing yet another terrible blow, I am thinking really hard about all that has happened, about all those people that I loved and cherished and who are no longer with me today, and I see that nothing is eternal. This is why I have to tell you now – there are no words strong enough for how thankful I am for you, Sarah O’Brien. When I am sad, your smile is like a ray of sunshine that brightens up my day. When I look in your eyes, I can forget about everything that has gone wrong, everything that hurts. Thank you so much for being there. Thank you for making my everyday worth living._

_Yours,_

_Cora Crawley_

 

Sarah. O’Brien’s Christian name is Sarah.

Days go by without Phyllis doing anything about the letter. She tries to push it out of her head, but it is hard to forget about Lady Grantham’s secret when her life essentially revolves around the countess. Even when she isn’t at her Ladyship’s side, it seems that Phyllis always carries a bit of her, whether it be a blouse that needs mending, a dress that needs ironing, or a hairbrush that needs cleaning. Lady Grantham is seldom far from her thoughts, and by the same token, neither is Sarah O’Brien and the unbelievable bond they shared. She can’t take her mind off the words she read, off those she heard from Lady Grantham’s mouth not so long ago, reminding her that O’Brien is still very much here with them, if only in Lady Grantham’s heart and mind.

The words come back to her at unexpected times – while pouring her mistress a cup of tea, while eating her stew in the servants’ hall, while skimming through the day’s newspaper, and sometimes even in the final moment before she falls asleep, lying in her narrow bed and suddenly wide awake and wondering about its previous occupant.

At first, Phyllis has tried not to accept it, the sad truth she has unwittingly uncovered. She may have eventually managed to fool herself into believing that the letter was a token of friendship, a deep and meaningful friendship. But it is not only the letter. It is the memory of her Ladyship uttering the name like it was honey on her tongue; it is her bottom lip trembling when she was reminded of the one person beside her husband whom she shared the secret of her favourite flower with; it is her desperate plea for _her Sarah_ while she was confused and suffering...

The naked truth is that the countess is longing for that woman with an intensity that goes far beyond what even Thomas can imagine. She is missing her so much in fact that the sadness and bitterness have become an obsession and, under the disguise of shallow smiles and pleasantries, it is eating her up from the inside. Yes, as unbelievable as it would appear to the rest of the world, Phyllis Baxter knows that Cora Crawley is madly in love with Sarah O’Brien.

She supposes she ought to feel shocked and disgusted by what is lurking just beneath the surface. Were the lady’s unnatural feelings ever reciprocated? And if they were, how far did the two women go – did they hold hands? Did they kiss? Did they... do the things only husband and wife do together? It is none of her business, of course. But why can’t she feel shocked? It would make things so much easier.

Instead, Phyllis just feels sad and tired. She knows all too well what it is to fall for the wrong person, what it is to have a dark secret, gnawing at you in your every waking hour, so she supposes it is only natural that she should feel some sort of pity for poor miserable Lady Grantham. Not one day passes without her regretting what she has done and she thinks she already forfeited her right to judge anyone. If anything, her mistake has made her more merciful than she ever was before. Even if she were blaming the countess, she would simply burn the suspicious letter and leave it at that. After all, Cora Crawley and Sarah O’Brien will probably never meet again and – just like Phyllis – the only thing that the countess is left with is regrets... But does she even regret it? Should she regret it?

Why can’t Phyllis blame her? It would make things so much easier. No matter how hard she tries she simply cannot change her mind. Deep down, Phyllis has known what she really wants to do with the letter from the moment she first read it and she also knows that she has merely been buying herself time since then, because she is frightened of her own decision. But she has waited much too long already – it is high time now, time to take action, time to get rid of the ghost which is haunting her, time to find out about the whereabouts of one Miss Sarah O’Brien...


End file.
